Part 16 (2/2)

”Afrit...!”

Cliff had darted back into the tent, now he emerged with binoculars.

”What the devil is it?” Crawford snapped. Desert trained eyes were evidently considerably more effective than his own. He couldn't see what the tribesmen were gaping at.

”It's the smallest heliohopper _I've_ ever seen,” Cliff snorted. ”It's so small practically all you can see are the rotors and the pa.s.senger.

He doesn't even look as though he's got a seat.”

Guemama came hurrying up, his eyes wide beneath his teguelmoust. ”El Ha.s.san! A witchman ... come out of the sky!”

Homer said evenly, ”It is nothing. Only post men ready to obey my commands.”

Guemama hesitated as though to waver out another protest, but then spun and hurried off--military-like, glad to have an order to obey to keep his mind from the impossible.

”I'm beginning to have a sneaking suspicion--” Crawford began without finis.h.i.+ng. ”Come on Isobel, Cliff. We're going to have to make the most of this.”

Rex Donaldson, ex-field man for the African Department of the British Commonwealth, dropped the lift lever of his heliohopper and settled to the ground immediately before Homer Crawford who stood there flanked by Isobel Cunningham and Cliff Jackson. Further back and in the form of a crescent were possibly two or three hundred Tuareg of all ages and both s.e.xes.

Donaldson, in the garb of a Dogan juju man consisting of little more than a wisp of cloth about his loins, played it straight, not knowing the setup. On the face of it, he had just flown out of the sky _personally_. The size of his equipment so small as to be all but meaningless.

He unstrapped himself from the thin, bicyclelike seat, and, expressionlessly, folded the rotors of his tiny craft back over themselves and the engine, collapsed the whole thing into a manageable packet of some seventy-five pounds, the seat now becoming a handle, and then turned and faced Crawford.

Donaldson screwed his wizened face into an expression of respect and made a motion of obeisance. Then he waited.

Isobel said, ”El Ha.s.san bids you speak.”

That was the tip-off, then. Crawford had already revealed himself to these people as El Ha.s.san. Very well.

Donaldson spoke in Arabic, not knowing the Tamaheq tongue. ”Aselamu, Aleik.u.m, El Ha.s.san. I come to obey your wishes.”

A sigh had gone through the Tuareg. ”Aiiiii.” _Wallahi, even the djinn obeyed El Ha.s.san!_

With dignity, Homer Crawford said, ”Keif halak, all in my house is yours.”

Rex Donaldson inclined his small bent body again, in respect.

Crawford said in English, ”Let's not carry this _too_ far. Come on into the tent.”

Ignoring the Tuareg, who still gaped but held their distance, the four English-speaking Negroes headed for the larger of the two tents that had been set up for El Ha.s.san.

As they pa.s.sed Guemama who stood slightly aside from the other Tuareg with his uncle Melchizedek, the Amenokal, Crawford nodded and said, speaking to them both. ”A messenger from my people to the south.

Continue with your newly arrived warriors, O Guemama.”

Cliff Jackson had picked up the folded heliohopper and was now carrying it easily.

Guemama looked at the device and blinked.

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